


New Breaks For Old Dogs

by orphan_account



Category: Assassin's Creed - All Media Types
Genre: Emotional Manipulation, Father/Son Incest, M/M, Mindbreak, Rape/Non-con Elements
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-02
Updated: 2018-08-28
Packaged: 2019-06-20 21:19:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,033
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15542376
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Haytham slowly but surely comes around to his son's way of thinking.





	1. William

William Johnson. Dead.

Haytham can not vouch surprise but it is unfortunate. William had his uses and he was very important to their cause in his own way. Still, he has come out here because he knows, with no uncertainty, that this was not an ‘accident’. It wasn't the natives ‘fighting back’, either. Right now, he can not for certain say what it was but an internal disagreement is not off the table.

It's why he's come out here without alerting his ‘order’. While he had brought two easily forgotten, easily replaceable soldiers with him, the wilderness proved to be a little more than they could handle and now Haytham makes his way to where William had been murdered alone. He is only here to assure nothing unsavory is happening among his men which shouldn't take long. Charles keeps a watchful eye on such things but even he isn't without suspicion right now.

Haytham senses the other presence before he hears it. He hears the slight rustle of brush soon after. Someone is following him. This is most unwise. He lowers his hand to the handle of his pistol and stops in his tracks, listening for further movement.

“Is there something you wanted?” he asks audibly, assuring the stranger knows they're being spoken to. He doesn't get an answer immediately but he is patient.

“I could ask the same of you,” comes the response eventually. A native by the sounds of it. Out in these parts, Haytham is a little surprised. They don't often stray from their own lands. He slights his hand but only a little. This interaction doesn't need to become malicious if it can be helped.

“Perhaps you could help me, then,” Haytham says. “Are you familiar with a man by the name of William Johnson?”

“I am,” the stranger replies. “He died trying to buy land that was not for sale.” Haytham turns minutely to try to see exactly where the man he is speaking to is but he can't tell quite exactly where he is yet and isn't too interested in actively searching for him.

“That would be him, yes,” he agrees.

“If you know he is dead then what is it you want here?” the stranger asks, almost sounding defensive now.

“Easy,” Haytham encourages. “I am simply trying to find out more about what happened to assure it does not happen again. Would you happen to know anyone present at the time? As I hear it, not many made it out.”

“I was present,” the stranger answers. How fortunate. Now Haytham turns more fully and he expects to see who he's speaking with or at the very least, spot where he had been moments prior. There is no one here, though, and doesn't look like there's been in a while. Now Haytham is on edge.

“Is that so?” he comments. “You know what happened then?”

“Indeed,” comes the response. “William fought with words and when that did not work, he fought with violence. He claimed he wanted to buy our land to protect us and on the same breath, had my people shot.” It is as Haytham told him to do, he supposes, in not as many words. That land is crucial to their plans moving forward but if they must take it by force, so be it. Not ideal, but necessary.

“He was only trying to help,” Haytham assures, once more trying to find the source of the voice. He raises his eyes upward but the trees are empty and still. “Your people, they killed him then?”

“No,” the voice answers. Now this is surprising.

“No?” Haytham repeats.

“He got what was coming to him,” he says. “What he ‘preached’ was not safety, it was control. If safety was what he wanted, then he would have provided the mean that we may protect ourselves.”

“Oh?” Haytham murmurs. “And you believe that would have been the best course of action? You think arming your people to wage a war on the numerous colonist would have provided you this safety?” He is met with silence. “William would have assured your people kept their land, their cultures and traditions, and instead he was met with violence because you did not understand.”

“He was going to take our land by force if he could not buy it and you wish me to believe he wanted the best?” he argues.

“Even if it hurts, sometimes you must force people in the right direction so they can understand,” Haytham assures. He hears a rustle behind him and immediately, he pivots back around to see the native that stands before him now. The voice doesn't quite match the face. The stranger is quite large, bearish almost, and holds himself stiffly.

“You want the same as he did, then?” he asks.

“No, no,” Haytham assures. It is too late to extend that olive branch now. “I will say, William was in the wrong. Trying to force the hand of your people when money did not work was not the appropriate course of action.” The native man seems surprised almost.

“Then I ask again, what is it you want?” he repeats.

“You said your people didn't kill William?” Haytham asks. “Then who did?” Silence. Long, uninterrupted and heavy with the stranger's eyes on him, examining him.

“Why is it you want to know?” he asks. “He is already dead.” Haytham thinks he has his answer here. Clearly this man is withholding information in fear of retaliation. He was wrong then, it was the natives fighting back. To think he thought William was more than equipped to deal with a few of them. The stranger approaches him and Haytham smiles falsely.

“I suppose you're right,” he agrees. “Perhaps we could come to an agreement.”

“Agreement?” he repeats.

“Yes, an agreement,” Haytham assures. “I wish to see your people keep their land, the same as you. If you won't sell it, then perhaps let my people help at least.”

“Why?” he demands. “What do you get from helping my people?”

“Why must I get anything?” Haytham replies. “The same as the colonist, you deserve freedom.” This makes the man's features soften if but minutely. Obviously Haytham should just do everything himself, it's the only way anything ever gets done.

“And this agreement?” he asks again, more accepting this time.

“You want a way to protect yourselves, correct? We can provide that to you. In return, we only ask that you provide us some of your knowledge of the land,” he says. It doesn't matter much to him, honestly. If they have to take the land by force, so be it. However, if they give the natives weapons and let them and the colonist fight it out first, it's all the same. It won't be long now until the British push the colonist further inland and they seek more and more land anyways.

“That is all?” the stranger asks after musing on it a moment.

“No one knows these lands like your people do,” Haytham assures. “Your knowledge will make more of a difference than you know. Take this offer back to your people, see what they think, and we will speak again.”

“Very well,” the stranger says. He moves forward again and Haytham watches him carefully for a moment before a hand is extended. Perhaps these people can find some understanding, afterall.

Haytham shakes his hand.

Honestly, he isn't sure if he should feel impressed that he was fooled so easily or _stupid_. He doesn't have nearly enough time to realise he's been played the fool before it's too late and the brute of a man headbutts him unconscious.

Considering how this went down, a part of Haytham is surprised that he wakes up but less surprised that he wakes up with a headache. He stifles a displeased groan as he moves to find out what has happened while he was out. Well, he seems to be tied hugging a tree so there's that. It doesn't seem like he was taken very far, either. It's dark now and there's a fire going close by- tended to by the man that knocked him out.

Normally, Haytham would simply cut himself free. The way he is tied to the tree makes this a little difficult, however. It is not simply his wrists tied to either end but rather, they are tied in such a way that they entangle his middle three fingers on either hand and force his palms flat against the tree. They're not loose in the slightest, either. If he were to reveal his hidden blade, it would be directly into his own hand. He's more curious to discover that he hasn't been stripped of his things, either; weapons or money.

Discreetly, he wiggles, testing his binds and seeing if he can move his hands enough to not injure himself. No luck there. His feet are free, though, perhaps he can work with this. Somehow.

“You are awake,” the man says. Haytham is still thoroughly annoyed he's been tricked by some oafish native man. He isn't even fully sure what this is about except that he _maybe_ had something to do with William.

“Release me,” Haytham instructs. “We were getting along so well, too.”

“I will release you when I am finished with you,” the man assures. So he does want _something_. It doesn't sound like he wants to kill Haytham, either. That's something he'll sorely regret. Haytham will burn the entire forest down if he must to get what he wants.

“And what is it you want from me?” Haytham asks. “Gold, perhaps. A promise of your people's safety? Out with it.” The man replies with something in Mohawk, instead. “In English, _preferably_.” The stranger gets to his feet and approaches Haytham and the tree he's forced to hug uncomfortably. For a moment, he is only stared at and then the stranger seems to be looking for something on his person.

“I know who you are,” the man says. If that were true, then he'd know Haytham is worth far more dead than alive to the kinds of people ‘sympathetic’ to his cause. “Haytham Kenway.” Knowing his name and knowing who he is are two very different things.

“Congratulations,” Haytham replies. “Now tell me what it is you want.”

“In time,” he assures. The man circles around behind him where Haytham can't fully see without scratching his face on the unforgiving wood. He's been unconscious long enough for the sun to go down so he's not sure why now the man decides to search him. The large hands unstrap the holster for his pistol and drop it aside and Haytham makes an aggravated noise. They feel around the front of his thighs, searching for anything else and finding nothing. He's a light traveler.

Haytham can't help the startled grunt of a noise he makes when the hands move from what he thought was searching to unbuttoning his pants and very suggestively pawing his nethers.

“What do you think you're doing?” Haytham barks. “Release me at once!” This is- he doesn't know _what_ this is except depraved.

“As I said,” the man repeats. “I will release you when I am finished with you.” Haytham imagines he wants information or perhaps an empty promise he thinks fear will make sound. Torture is not _new_ to Haytham but this method certainly is. He attempts to use his foot to deter his attacker but the native man is faster, kicking the back of his calf hard to deflect it then promptly pinning his foot between his own and the base of the tree. Haytham doesn't try with the other but he pulls at the rope holding him until it hurts.

“You are making a mistake,” Haytham warns darkly. He does his best to move his hips away from the violating hands but pressed between the hard tree and harder body, there's not much room for him to go. Hands caress his cock fully before beginning to stroke him with slow tugs from base to tip. This is hardly arousing but the physical stimulation alone makes his body respond despite his stubbornness. Perhaps if he had been as willing and loose with his desires as Hickey, this wouldn't be an issue.

He's also sure he'd be raging with disease, though.

“If you release me now, I will still be forgiving,” Haytham promises when vinegar obviously doesn't work. He doesn't want to come off desperate, doesn't want to give this heathen the satisfaction, but he will weave whatever lies he needs to in order to escape- preferably before this goes much further.

“You do not seem to be in much of a position to make demands,” the man replies.

“For now, I suppose,” he says with violent warning. The man lets out a low, amused noise that rattles against the back of Haytham’s neck. His hands are uncomfortable on his cock, rough fingers stroking his now stiff flesh with a consistent pressure and rhythm like it's more mechanical than anything else. “Then I'll _ask_ again; _what_ do you _want_?”

“I am taking what I want,” the man assures. Haytham can _see_ that. The reason for it still eludes him, however. He has not asked for any information, any promises, any _things_. If Haytham has done something to this man or his people and this is intended to punish, why this way? Does this brutish man really think something like this will weigh him like a plague? Why not blind him? Cripple or lame or truly leave him something to remember?

Why not simply kill him?

“I can hear you thinking,” the man comments and Haytham jolts as the hands move to something new. One adjusts further down, cupping his testicles and applying a fine, rolling pressure. The other moves in the opposite direction, thumb and index finger teasing the head of his cock, pulling at his foreskin and tracing the slit. If he thinks he's going to get Haytham to _enjoy_ this, he is sorely mistaken.

“Yes, I was just thinking how it's unsurprising that a savage such as yourself can find such pleasure in doing perverse things like raping another man,” Haytham says scathing, ignoring the rasp in his voice.

“Nor do you seem to be in much of a position to goad,” the man says. True as that is, it certainly won't stop Haytham. Obviously he is not the only one unwilling to be deterred. “Would you like this to stop?” he asks. Haytham stubbornly doesn't reply. The answer to that is fairly obvious and being made to state it is intended to be demeaning. “Haytham Kenway, would you like it to stop?”

“No, I'm having the time of my life,” Haytham answers sarcastically.

“Very well,” comes the reply. Haytham is certain his reply to this question has no difference in the outcome it produces. It's clear now that whatever this is, _why_ ever, it is intended to humiliate and ridicule him and he is not interested in letting that happen. This is only another form of torture and he can withstand it. The hand on his balls travels lower and Haytham can't stop the natural reaction his heart has as a rough, thick finger strokes his tensed hole. He presses his teeth together hard, firming his jaw in detest.

Stubbornness only gets him so far, though. Haytham tries to withhold the pained grunt he makes when the thick, _dry_ finger pushes against him lightly at first and then more firmly when he won't relax until it's forced in. No, he isn't keen on lowering himself to doing exactly what his captor wants but similarly, he is no novice to doing what he has to do to get out of difficult situations. It is just a finger, barely inside of him, and it is severely uncomfortable. He can't imagine what _more_ would be.

“ _Yes_ ,” he rasps out harsly. “Yes, I would like you to stop.” A painful death for his captor will heal any wounds sustained to his ego later. The man pauses and then withdraws his finger and hand. Haytham certainly does not believe it's that easy. If people could simply _ask_ for things and receive them, the world would be a much different, much worse place.

“Perhaps we could come to an agreement,” the man offers, the words thrown back in Haytham’s face worse than spit. A part of him is _well_ aware that some people would see this as _just_. Some would like to see him hang and others? Others would pay money to watch _this_. There is reason behind _his_ ‘foul’ actions, though. This lends only cruelty.

“It seems whether we can or not is up to you,” Haytham replies, trying to steady his breathing now that he's no longer being touched inappropriately. If this man claims to know him, then he knows no ‘agreement’ Haytham makes, under duress no less, is liable for being kept later unless it benefits him in some way.

“If you play nice, I will make sure it hurts less,” the man says; his ‘agreement’. Oh yes, Haytham has no uncertainties now this is intended to be some just punishment. He gets it. It's _funny_. The same single sided, heavily skewed agreements he offers to so many people now being offered back to him in return, though much more crudely. “Agreed?”

He has some options here. First and foremost, he can escape. Drawing his blade will, irreputably, damage his hand. The way he is tied, he'll likely sever off one of his fingers in order to get to the rope as well. If he is quick enough, or at least quiet enough, fending off his captor, regardless of how large, will be simple. He does not think he weighs his pride and virtue equally with the physical prowess he possesses with his hands. Losing the use of either of his hands would inevitably leave him in a disadvantageous situation in the future; losing his virtue will not.

He could not ‘play nice’ and make this as difficult and unpleasurable for both of them. Haytham’s hands are tied, yes, but that is all. Not to mention he has a sharper, meaner tongue that he has shown for it thus far. This does not particularly strike him as a good idea, either. Fighting will likely only lead to deteriorating treatment and likely sustaining similar, irreparable harm. Worse than what he would do to his own hand, he's sure.

“Agreed,” Haytham says with an irritable, unhappy scoff. If he can not stop this, then making it pass as easy and painless as possible is the next preferred. Again he reminds himself that once it's over and he's freed, his captor will be living on borrowed time. Perhaps he'll burn the forest down tomorrow. If his captor was lying about releasing him, he is willing to maim himself to preserve his life.

“I did not know white men could be so cooperative,” the man comments. His steady, almost cold voice is grating in the worst way. Haytham wonders if this is how he sounds to some people; annoyingly unwavering. The hands return and Haytham snarls instinctively but he doesn't fight. All he can do is let this pass. Again, a rough finger moves between his thighs and strokes his rim but this time, it is slick with something he cares little to think in depth about. It only matters that it does make this less uncomfortable.

The finger is pushed into him again and he tries not to tense up nearly as much but it proves difficult. Still, the slick makes it minutely less uncomfortable and at the very least, much easier. Haytham clenches his teeth, assuring no stray noises of any kind leave him unwittingly, and focuses on easing himself as the finger is thrust unceremoniously in to the knuckle. The native man’s fingers are large and he's never, in any regard, desired to be with a man before let alone to do something like this.

With the other hand still skillfully working his cock, he remains hard for the time being but just barely. Even physical stimulation only does so much when he irritated and sorely uncomfortable. The finger thrusts into him at a steady pace, truly making no effort to take into account his discomfort, and a second is added before he's even properly adjusted to the first. Haytham supposes the silver lining is the brute could have just shoved his cock in and torn him in two from the go get but didn't. If that is silver, anyways.

Much like the second, the third is pushed into his tight hole and Haytham can barely stand it. Slicked or not, the fingers are thick and certainly don't fit well. Each thrust rubs against him in the most unpleasant of ways and Haytham wishes to bite the tree but doesn't relish the taste of bark. There is, for what is surely imagined, a brief jolt of something more enjoyable when the fingers flex and curl but it doesn't linger.

For whatever reason, the man takes his precious time from here. Minutes pass by agonizingly slow as the three fingers twist and spread and rock into him until that painful discomfort simmers down to just a strange intrusion and he no longer has to bite his lip so hard he feels he might make himself bleed. If his captor is sticking to his word in this case, he'll likely do the unwise thing of doing it again in the near future. Haytham withholds the need to bark his impatience, knowing it will only earn him further pain regardless of how he loathes this being drawn out.

It seems the preparation is not fully for his ‘comfort’, either. The fingers are withdrawn without a word and Haytham’s pants are pulled further down, baring him to the cold night air. He can't help but tense again when the hand on his semi-erection is removed and instead grabs his ass, pulling at his flesh to reveal his hole. Such a shameful showing. Haytham knows he has no say in this but he can not help but feel an active participant for having submitted so easily.

The blunt, _hot_ head of his captor’s firm cock presses against him and a breath catches in Haytham’s throat. Without having to see, he can tell without a doubt this man is not lightly endowed. He has to admit, he is glad he decided to go about this the easy way. Or _easier_ , at least. Even with the preparation of fingers and a thorough amount of slick, he feels the sting of being stretched so obscenely far around the cock as his captor tries pushing even just the tip in. When it finally pops in, Haytham rasps a noise he can't contain.

It doesn't hurt, no, but Haytham has never been more uncomfortable in his life. The idea that this brute might have tried to take him with no preparation at all is nightmarish. ‘Playing nice’ was obviously the correct choice. To his benefit, the man pauses and only after Haytham has unclenched again does he push forward. It isn't much better but Haytham stops any further noises. Inch after inch is forced into him slowly but surely with seemingly no end in site.

“Wait,” Haytham says from clenched teeth. He feels like he can't breathe. Hell, with how much hard, unrelenting cock is being pushed into him, he feels like his insides are being rearranged. Again, the man pauses but it's too brief to get his bearings back. “I said wait, you uncivilized savage-” This is not considered playing nice. The man slams into him suddenly, a single, firm thrust shoving the rest of his needlessly lengthy cock root deep and tearing a broken noise from Haytham’s throat.

All of him tenses in both shock and pain, forced all at once to adjust to the meaty intrusion threatening to split him in two. Haytham can't help his clench and it does him no favours, feeling every lewd throb and twitch inside of him. There's so much of it, he nearly expects to look down to see a bump in his stomach- not that he can even look down.

“I am waiting,” the man assures fleetingly. Haytham is too pained to sneer properly. He catches his breath in the still moment he gets and his captor seems to wait if not on Haytham’s demand than on his own time. It's impossible to adjust to, unlike the fingers.

“Your name,” he asks. “You know mine, it seems fair I should know yours.”

“Ratonhnhaké:ton,” the man replies. Something needlessly complicated, _of course_. Haytham isn't sure why he even bothered asking. Ratonhnhaké:ton bucks his hips forward making Haytham lurch against the tree. “Say it.” He could not _possibly_. A hand grabs his hip and another hard buck nearly takes Haytham off his knees if not for the tree holding him. The pain increases with every move he isn't nearly adjusted enough for.

“Tell me- you have to tell me again,” Haytham says.

“Ratonhnhaké:ton,” he repeats, no less slow or complicated. Haytham makes a half hearted attempt to repeat it but his mouth doesn't work for such a thread of syllables. The first sound out is already incorrect and he knows the slight withdraw is not a reward. He hastily starts over with similar results and Ratonhnhaké:ton thrusts into him roughly, taking the air from his lungs again. White spots dance across his vision. He knows this won't kill him but it certainly feels like it might.

“You will need to know how to say it properly when you try to look for me,” Ratonhnhaké:ton says. Perhaps he knows Haytham better than he assumed. “Ratonhnhaké:ton.”

“Slower,” Haytham rasps. He has relinquished all of his pride and spite for now, certainly having no need for it at the moment. In fact, it's only gotten him more trouble. He considers himself a smart man and the smart move here is submission.

“Ratonhnhaké:ton,” he says again, at least slow enough that Haytham can separate some of the sounds. He repeats it, inelegantly and foreign but apparently acceptable. “You will look for me and you will not find me.” They'll just see about that, won't they. “You will try to scorch my village in retribution. Do not. You will not succeed and next time I will not offer ‘agreements’.” Does he really think these meager threats will deter him? _Save_ him? If he were smart, he'd make sure Haytham died tied to this tree.

“I understand,” Haytham says between breaths. For now though, play nice. “Ratonhnhaké:ton.” The touching he had done earlier returns, fleetingly stroking his soft cock before seemingly deciding it's a lost cause. Ratonhnhaké:ton actually gives him the time to adjust this time, pawing at his hips and ass in the meantime. The sheer size of him is grotesque and completely unnecessary.

Haytham doesn't have to say anything for Ratonhnhaké:ton to decide he's become impatient and begins an honest rhythm of thrusts. He pulls out almost completely, a temporary relief, and slides back in in a fluid motion. It starts slow and easy dare he say, the discomfort somewhat fading to just an strange weight inside him, heavy and hot. Even as it grows faster and rougher, it's gradual enough that the pain doesn't return. Haytham’s cock stirs for the same reason it had earlier; pure stimulation.

There is no pleasure in this for him and the grunts he makes are more from the sheer force of the thrusts than anything else. He stays focused though, if he allows his mind to wander who knows what Ratonhnhaké:ton will do. Not that it matters much if he _is_ paying attention. Even when Ratonhnhaké:ton yanks the neck of his coat and shirt aside, there's not much he can do to stop him and the teeth that snap into his flesh are unrelenting. Haytham twists against him instinctively, rubbing his wrists raw in doing so, and a disgruntled sound leaves him.

Blood is drawn, surprisingly the first. Haytham has no doubt the bite will leave a scar- if it doesn't get infected by some miraculous means.

Several more hard, tellingly deep thrusts and Ratonhnhaké:ton comes. Haytham can feel the sickly heat that spreads inside of him, marking him to his very core. _Disgusting_. But, it is over now and that's all that matters. Ratonhnhaké:ton will unwisely let him go and Haytham will probably just kill him now, honestly.

“Satisfied?” Haytham asks sourly. “You said you'd release me when you got what you wanted. I'm waiting.”

“I did,” Ratonhnhaké:ton replies but his tone is not comforting. Instead of cutting him free, Ratonhnhaké:ton wraps his strong forearm around Haytham’s neck- his softening dick still root deep in his ass. Haytham finds all his pride and fire at once, immediately struggling against his captor however he can to buy him some time. When he tries to unsheathe his blade, hand be damned, Ratonhnhaké:ton grabs his wrist firmly, stopping him from making the flex required to do so. Immediately after, Haytham learns his other blade is locked in place.

Ratonhnhaké:ton was prepared for him.

“Do not do anything drastic,” he says. “If I intended to kill you, I would have.” So says the arm trying to strangle him. Haytham snarls and barks but he doesn't have enough air to actually make legible sounds. His world fades fast and once again, he finds himself unconscious.

This time when he awakens, the fire is snuffed out and Ratonhnhaké:ton nowhere to be seen even with his sight. It's still dark and Haytham is still leaned against the same tree, the only difference now is he's on his knees and the rope binding him there has been cut. His face is scratched terribly from the rough bark, his neck is sore, bloody, and bruised, and his ass gapping and slick with cum and lubrication. He is thoroughly debauched and left in the dark wilderness wildly unprepared.

Haytham will only explain what he finds strictly necessary about this later; a savage native attack and tortured him. It's not like anyone is going to ask any further questions from him. He'll make sure Ratonhnhaké:ton regrets this.


	2. John

John Pitcairn. Dead.

This was not an accident, either. William might have gotten himself killed in a sloppy altercation with natives but John was surrounded by his own men behind several firing lines. Two of them so close together is even more suspicious. He has not yet counted out the idea that this is an internal issue. Someone easily could have escalated William’s meeting beyond his control and to get to John without anyone noticing? No one would notice a fellow soldier at his side.

But John and William are dead and Haytham has living people to worry about.

Ultimately, he has not found the time to look for Ratonhnhaké:ton or make any move on the ‘situation’ for simply being too busy. His rage still burns hot, of course, but he knows better than to burn himself with such a thing. Ignoring his work and potentially causing greater problems to arise in a craving for vengeance towards one man is ridiculous. He certainly has not forgotten and _will_ not.

“Yeah, yeah, everythin’s goin’ as planned already,” Hickey assures, clearly wanting Haytham off his back already. He's more a hired sword than he is a ‘team player’ but he's been around a long time and has proven himself dependable all these years. Everything going as planned isn't Haytham’s worry, though, nor is it Hickey’s capability. “This ain't about Johnson ‘n Pitcairn is it?”

“ _Every_ precaution must be taken,” Charles says as they walk. “It is a little suspicious dying so close together _now_. We wouldn't want you to be next.” Charles isn't exactly off the list of suspects, Haytham knows not to trust even his most loyal companion anymore, but his words come off more threatening than they mean to on most days. Subtle he is not.

“I gots it. Under. Control,” Hickey repeats rather shortly. If they left Hickey to do work as he pleased like he wants, he'd surely never actually get anything done especially with William dead. He was the only one that had anything other than a monetary exchange with Hickey.

“Is that so?” Haytham comments. “Then it must be one of your men that's been following us for several blocks now?” Hickey discreetly tries to look over his shoulder to find said figure but after a moment, he clearly doesn't see. Instead, he looks at Haytham irritably.

“Do you think they're going to be a problem?” Charles asks.

“Certainly not, I'm sure they've come for Thomas’ irresistible charm,” Haytham replies earning an even more aggravated look. “Very well, let's deal with this now. We'll go our separate ways, see who they follow, then give a signal. My guess is it's Thomas. You've been quite busy lately.”

“We'll catch them off guard when they corner you,” Charles says. “Don't fret, boy.” Hickey doesn't exactly look into this idea but of course, his complaints are minimum. They stop, make a small departing ‘show’, and go their separate ways. It's a method they've used before and a successful one at that; the alley ambush.

Haytham goes his own direction with little concerned to where exactly that is. He doesn't count out the idea that he might be the target so he finds a dead end alley and stands at the end of it. A signal is preferable but Haytham also listens for a gunshot or commotion. When a full minute passes with nothing, he becomes suspicious. When two pass, he becomes uneasy.

Perhaps their tail got spooked, it surely wouldn't take this long to lure them out. When it becomes obvious nothing is occurring, at least not audibly, Haytham climbs up onto the roof to have a look. Clearly Charles has become curious as well and not far off, he sees the man curiously looking out of a different alley. No sign of Hickey or their tail.

If Hickey honestly can't deal with a single ease dropper then perhaps it was unwise to leave him in charge of an assassination.

Haytham does not expect the rope that suddenly wraps around his neck nor the attached blade that digs itself into the back of his shoulder, assuring purchase and tightening the rope. He barely has time to grab for the rope but the roof is slanted and before he can free himself, he is yanked down into a different alley. Tangled and disoriented, there is no way for him to soften his landing and he hits the solid ground hard, only managing to make his confusion, and pain, worse. Fortunately, his lands on his front and the knife in his back isn't jammed into his ribcage.

A heavy weight is on his back the second he hits the ground and immediately after that, he's punched square in the back of the head, nearly knocking him out. Again. Instead, his discombobulation gives his attacker time to tie his arms.

Ratonhnhaké:ton.

Haytham doesn't need to see him to know. The way his hands are ties, not allowing him to twist out or use his hidden blades, is telling enough. That and the sheer size of the man on him, obviously.

“I did not expect to see you here,” Ratonhnhaké:ton says lowly in his ear, tightening the ropes needlessly tight. Haytham’s ears still ring loudly from the blow to the head and his body aches from the fall but he violently shrugs his shoulder back to try to detach his attacker. It's stunningly ineffective. Once he's tied, Ratonhnhaké:ton hoists him back to his feet easily and shoves him face first into a brick side of a building. It's dark and the hum of the people nearby seems far away.

“Is this really the wisest?” Haytham asks pointedly. Ratonhnhaké:ton is pressed so firmly into his back, even though he can still draw his blades he doesn't have the space to use them. “I need only call and my men will be here momentarily.”

“Then call,” Ratonhnhaké:ton replies, his lips right against the back of his ear. He doesn't waste even a second, his hand palming Haytham’s cock through his trousers and his hips ground into his ass. The feel of his hard, heavy cock against him makes Haytham jolts instinctively, quick to recall the unpleasantness of last time.

“You are not calling,” Ratonhnhaké:ton says as he uses his other hand to undo the button of his pants. “Do you not wish your men to see you like this?” Does he really think _that_ would stop him? Haytham firms his jaw tensely, actively trying to fight off his swelling erection this time.

“What is it you want?” Haytham demands shortly. “ _Aside_ from this savage need.” There is more to this, that is clear. Surely there is no way this simple native man killed John, too. He was _surrounded_ by his own men. There's no way he could have-

Ratonhnhaké:ton is an assassin.

Haytham definitely feels stupid now. The assassins were supposed to be gone, yes, but he should know better than to take that without a grain of salt. Assassins are stubborn and hearty and now he's paying the price for underestimating them. That doesn't make sense, though. If that were the case, if Ratonhnhaké:ton knows who he is, he should be dead.

The hand so slowly stroking him hard is very distracting as much as he wills it not to be. Haytham realises, belatedly, he's bait. The Grandmaster of the Templars being used as _bait_. He would expect someone like Hickey or Charles to be taken hostage and held as bait to get _his_ attention, not the other way around. If he does call for aid, they'll surely be walking straight into a trap. Clever. Hickey is replaceable, disposable even, but Charles is not.

“Ironic, isn't it? Your people beat and rape mine as they feel the want but they are not ‘savage’ yet, my people can not be anything but,” Ratonhnhaké:ton says. Haytham certainly doesn't _condone_ such things but perhaps he is not near as vocal about condemning it as he should be, either. It doesn't stop them, anyways. This is exactly what their precious ‘freedom’ brings.

“That is not ‘irony’,” Haytham replies off handedly. He also knows that isn't what this is about. Ratonhnhaké:ton would have far better targets if this was simply about seeing twisted revenge for his people. “You did not answer my question.”

“No,” Ratonhnhaké:ton agrees. “I did not.” Haytham’s breath is uneven now. Unable to ignore the stimulation physically, his cock aches for relief. He's not even been able to touch himself since the last time, unable to stop thinking about it and inevitably becoming too angry to continue every time he tried. He still has the bite mark.

“You want Hickey,” Haytham states simply. “You can have him.”

“Are you always so quick to betray your own men, father?” Ratonhnhaké:ton asks. Father? What? That's- what? “You have not sought me out nor tried to bring harm to my people, however. I shall keep my word- unlike some.”

An assassin, sure. That makes sense. His son? Haytham is not nearly as quick to believe. Large but not old and certainly not older. Twenty years his junior, perhaps more, and that many years ago- the timing is certainly _possible_. Ratonhnhaké:ton mentions it so nonchalantly, though, not as a card to be played but a fact he didn't really think about. What would lying about such a thing accomplish in this situation for him? And his face, so familiar.

His own son doing something like this, though? Does he believe he was conceived forcefully? Did his mother tell him that? The very thought-

“I take by your silence this is not agreeable,” Ratonhnhaké:ton says and the sudden squeeze to his cock makes Haytham hiss through his teeth. The depravity of this situation only grows.

“What, I- wasn't listening,” Haytham admits. “So little of what you say holds any importance, forgive me.” He can not forget the situation he is in, though. A situation in which he should really just know from the start to hold his tongue in. Ratonhnhaké:ton slides his hand further down and Haytham freezes. He still remembers, so vivid and descript, how well endowed Ratonhnhaké:ton is and how uncomfortable it was even with preparation and slick.

“Wait,” he says quickly. “What did you say? You have my full attention.”

“It was of no importance,” Ratonhnhaké:ton repeats, a finger now stroking his hole quite threateningly. The other hand remains on his cock, his thumb drawing circles around his tip wet with precum. Haytham’s heart races.

“I-” He really needs to watch his _bleedin_ ’ mouth. “Ratonhnhaké:ton, surely you understand not everything said in duress is sound. I _apologise_.”

“Your words are as hollow as ever,” Ratonhnhaké:ton replies. Dread sticks to Haytham’s stomach and he twists to test his reach. Even this small action makes Ratonhnhaké:ton push him harder into the wall, effectively ending any hope of a violent escape. “Behave and I will not make you scream,” he says. “Unless you would like your ‘men’ to come to your aid.”

“No,” Haytham assures mildly. “Agreed.” Charles would come without question and right now, Haytham certainly can not put his already tainted virtue above the life of his second in command. He has no idea what kind of trap this is nor how deadly it would be but he won't underestimate the assassins again.

Ratonhnhaké:ton takes his hand away briefly and it returns well slicked. Haytham jolts against the brick as a finger is pushed into him without reserve. The discomfort is minimum this time and almost immediately, a second is added.

“You take it much easier this time,” Ratonhnhaké:ton comments and Haytham sneers in reply. Obviously his body remembers it, too. The fingers thrust against him at a relentless pace but he can't find anything unpleasurable about it, an occasional curl almost makes it feel _good_ even. He's _not_ going to enjoy this. He doesn't want to come either, but the hand stroking him is just as unrelenting and this time there's nothing stopping his traitorous body from basking in the stimulation.

“Make it quick, will you,” Haytham scowls. “If I'm gone too long, they'll come looking for me, anyways.” It is a legitimate concern but the lack of pain gives him all the more reason to be done with this as quick as possible.

“Very well,” Ratonhnhaké:ton agrees. He pulls his pair of fingers out and pushes the waistband of his pants down with his thumb. It occurs to Haytham that he may have been a little hasty when Ratonhnhaké:ton uses his hand to press the tip of his girthy cock to his poorly prepped hole. He pushes in and the sting of having to stretch to accommodate him is apparent immediately. Haytham clenches his jaw but he refuses to make any noise, not when he insisted on this.

This time, the hand on his cock doesn't waver, still stroking him with timed little flicks of the wrist and keeping him hard through the ordeal. The pain is lesser but still prominent, every inch sank into him heavy on his guts. There's still so much of it but this time, Ratonhnhaké:ton isn't slow about it. Without so much as a pause, he buries himself root deep with a fluid, unbridled motion. Haytham presses against the cool brick as if it'll help him but it just scratches his face even more.

Ratonhnhaké:ton pushes against him so hard, Haytham is nearly lifted off his toes. Nevertheless, he's completely sheathed and this is one step closer to being finished. The pain fades to a mild discomfort fortunately quick and Haytham can unclench his jaw for the time being. The still foreign sensation of being so full is hard to adjust to though, constant and demanding, but he does get a few moments to breathe.

There are lips on his neck and for a brief, very fleeting moment Haytham almost mistakes them for being rewarding.

“Do _not_ -” he begins and then there are teeth in his neck. The spot is much softer and higher up on his throat than the last and Haytham hisses through his teeth as they dig in roughly. He feels the skin break and the wetness of blood drip down his skin. That won't be hidden by his coat, that's certain. He carefully bites back any intentionally racial comments.

Obviously satisfied with what he's done, Ratonhnhaké:ton begins to move again. He doesn't pull out far and each snap of the hips is precise and jolting. Haytham tightens his fingers so hard, the rope feels like it's numbing his hands. It is becoming harder to ignore the underlying pleasure, the hand stroking his cock and the grazing of the bundle of nerves inside him that nearly makes him moan. If he lets himself enjoy even the slightest amount of this, the assassin wins.

Trying to hold off his impending orgasm is becoming a losing battle, however. Ratonhnhaké:ton takes his hip in his free hand, gripping him tight enough to bruise, and grinding into him uncomfortably deep. Haytham stiffens, tries to bring himself back from the edge in any way possible, but Ratonhnhaké:ton’s hand is surprisingly skillful. Pleasure washes over him as he comes and disgust follows suit, snarling his mouth in a twisted shape. Ratonhnhaké:ton makes a deep, breathy sound in his ear as he follows not far behind, painting his insides with that liquid heat again. He can't believe he came from this.

“Are you done?” Haytham asks shortly. “Release me.” A shudder jolts down his back as Ratonhnhaké:ton pulls out, leaving him stretched and tender. Cum leaks down his thigh and Haytham dreads having to walk through town like this. After putting himself away, Ratonhnhaké:ton hikes his pants back up, buttons them closed, and pats out the front of his coat.

“A _gentleman_ ,” Haytham says sarcastically. Ratonhnhaké:ton pulls his head back by a handful of his hair and he clenches his teeth angrily.

“You talk too much,” is all he says. Haytham can unfortunately agree with that. When Ratonhnhaké:ton lets him go, he realises exactly how much he was being held up and his knees nearly give out on him. He catches himself on the brick wall with his shoulder and takes a moment to try to regain himself. Ratonhnhaké:ton pulls his knife out of Haytham’s shoulder harshly, getting a pained grunt for the effort, and points it at his face threateningly.

“Do not follow me,” he warns. Haytham doesn't think he could do that if he wanted to. Ratonhnhaké:ton leaves uneventfully, disappearing behind a corner and into the crowd. Once his legs work properly again, Haytham makes his way out of the alley, his hands still firmly tied behind his back. Charles spots him at once. He’s so close by, a couple more minutes and he likely would have wandered upon them anyways. Haytham wonders if there even was a trap.

“Sir!” Charles exclaims. “What happened?”

“Untie me, Charles,” Haytham instructs hastily. “I was robbed.”

“Robbed?” he echos, hurriedly cutting the rope from his arms. Haytham rubs his wrists and sets the fabric of his sleeves right again.

“Yes, robbed. Some mad man cornered me,” he explains simply. “Where is Thomas?”

“He insisted he needed to get back to his work,” Charles says. “Why didn't you call? Did- did they _bite_ you?”

“And draw attention away from our tail? I don't think so,” Haytham replies. He wipes the dried blood from his neck, the bite mark still sore even at such a touch. “As I said, a _mad_ man. Not that it matters, it looks like our little tail made scarce. We should do the same.”

“Indeed,” Charles agrees.

Cum drips down his leg.


End file.
